


Paene Umbra

by Toaster_for_my_bath



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Dark, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-11-23 09:33:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20889923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toaster_for_my_bath/pseuds/Toaster_for_my_bath
Summary: Whooooh you can rally see my add kick in when I'm writing this. Not only do I not know where to begin it but I'm only writing the chapters I find interesting. I'm planing on completing this but for the next century enjoy some almost smut from 2-3hr after the first chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

A mans voice droned in bible talk.  
Waylon recalled the phrasing and the tone, recognised his confusion in it like he had at church. The way it made him feel, dirty like grease, but the words, they didn't stick. The feeling that he'd missed salvation had an urgency that lingered. The urgency rolled in his stomach and turned to panic.

He remembered running, flashes of green and grey, that night vision again. And the fog! It concealed the world from him. His hands slashed at it as his feet hit the tarmac in a sprint, he ran like the end of days. Head up, eyes wide and watching, desperate. Fog caught against his body, tumbled across his limbs. He felt it linger, or rather, its whispery touch an emptiness like the release of an embrace. It's obscurity only flicked in his conscious. 

Organ music played somewhere beyond sight in a tune he herd but couldn't catch. The sound was static and distant, like a loud speaker in an empty parking lot. It ecoed through a depth Waylon shivered to comprehend and became almost lost under the thunder of his heart. 

A slip of white light cut the horizon, almost blinding in the dimness. He watched as the dark peeled back from it like fat from a cut. He kept running towards the sore, feeling an unseen threat, a presence now chasing him. 

There was that panic again, the kind that hit him like electricity. More notes clashed in the musics haunting melody, like it was dubbing his movement in some old cartoon, he felt it mock him. As he closed in on the horrizon the world around him began to shrink, more and more like he was running down a funnel. In a body he couldn't feel he drove forward with sheer force of will, he wanted to scream in anticipation. Waylons foot steps began to sound heavy and wet. He threw himself through the yawn of light and blackness closed off like a seal behind him. He was in a corridor again...

Back at mount massive.

He didn't stop, looking down he saw that he was red to the knees. The blood grew heavier and heavier as he took off down the hall. He pushed through one door to the next.

Don't look back. Don't stop. 

The paint peeled from the walls and the floor boards cracked. A layer of dust and grime covered everything. It's smell familiar; the place was how he left it; but the world had a weight on his eyes, rippling like water around him. 

No. NO! 

Every door he opened had another behind it. More rooms. More hallways. More doors. It didn't have an end, but he willed one, a tug behind his eyes, a feeling that made him squirm in panic, made him want to disappear. He felt it coming and shivered with anticipation.

He felt the blood turn to glue, each step became harder to take, until he was stuck, fingers on the handle of his front door.

So close.

Unable to open it. A hissing noise made him look down. His bare feet bright crimson and the floor around them boiling, a spluttering heat that burned so real at his ankles. It spewed from around him, a great blanket of it spilling to meet the walls. He herd his wife scream;

Lisa!

her pain as the sound hissed to a stop, forced from her lungs in a high squeal like air from cooking meat. He looked up sharply, horrified.The door ripped open and there she was. 

His tortured wife. 

Her peeling and blistered hand reaching for his face. He tried to pull away, every movement agonisingly slow, he couldn't. 

So much I couldn't do!

So much you didn't. 

She was upon him In a blink. He felt the heat of her hands around his throat, searing heat as if in that moment she was consumed in the flames, not months before. Her once thin, pretty wrists now buried beneath that grotesque flesh. Her hand was in his mouth, his throat, choking him, burning him, as she convicted him with those cooked yellow eyes.

Waylon woke with a jolt.

Sucking the breath back he was sure he'd been holding. He found himself curled up on his side in the passenger seat, hands cramped from squeezing the seat belt and face pressed into the plastic of the door. The smell of old carpet, coffee and b-o flicked something in his memory. 

Oh yeah.

A groan escaped his lips. He was still for a long time, listening to the low rumble of the engine until the ringing faded from his ears. The vertigo lingered as he straightened up slowly.

Nightmares again. He didn't think they'd ever let him sleep.


	2. Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooh you can rally see my add kick in when I'm writing this. Not only do I not know where to begin it but I'm only writing the chapters I find interesting. I'm planing on completing this but for the next century enjoy some almost smut from 2-3hr after the first chapter.

"Miles no." Waylon says with a pang, shrugging off the man's hand. 

"You've ruined my life, you owe me this." There's his usual dry humour. Sometimes he sounds like a winey school girl. 

"You can be a journalist with eight fingers."

"Thats not the point, now I'm possessed." 

"You're not possessed if you control it...No one made you go." Waylon eyes him up and down. 

Miles's face is hollow and drawn out. His eyes are sunken, the bags around them are deep and black. His skin is too pale and Waylon can see it pull at his cheek bones and elbows, it makes him look sharp and skeletal. He looks sick, like a dead man. The only thing that could separate him from a corpse is his eye colour. Glass lit Like emerald coal, Waylon can feel the inferno burn behind them, he's unsure of what fuels it. He tares his eyes away and searches Miles's face. His ivory skin is covered in a sheet of stubble, his jacobean coloured hair is messy and tangled, his appearance is neglected and it makes him look wild. He wasn't the man he'd seen at Berkeley.

"You should never have come." Waylon says gently, serious now. "I won't forgive myself." A whisper is all he can manage. 

Miles cups both hands around Waylon's slim face. "Then let me."

"...Miles." Waylon says backing away, eyes downcast.

"Then let me Waylon, let me." he steps with him.

Waylon feels himself being pressed into the wall. His eyes flick up as he snatches at Miles wrist. It doesn't budge. "Miles, You're not thinking straight." His grip tightens. He can feel the man's cool skin, the hard muscle of his wrist, his gentil pulse. Waylon's cheeks are squished slightly in Miles hands. He sinks back slowly out of the touch till his head's aganst the wall. All the while his gaze held by those burning green eyes. The younger man releases him. Only to place his hands square on Waylon's shoulders. Waylon lets go of his wrist, eyes narrowing. 

"You're right Park, Im not thinking straight... I'm not thinking at all." He whispers, face only inches from Waylon's. His breath smells like coffee. "We can feel your hate. Your agony. Your regret... It eats its way into my mind, I can feel it crawl through my skin... Waylon y-you don't under stand, when its bad enough I feel your pain too..." 

"Miles I-" he's cut off, although he had nothing els to say.

"Its this thing inside me... It likes it... All this suffering. And when mine's not enough it draws it from people close by, I become a magnet for it. It feeds from it. Waylon this is my curse... I'm loosing my humanity." 

Waylon's brown eyes soften. He can't stand it anymore, he looks away.

"There it is, don't pity me." He almost spits the words.

"Then don't beg for it." Waylon snaps.

Miles snarls. 

Waylon flinches, expecting a blow. Miles notices, his shoulders drop, his grip softens. 

"...I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Waylon mumbles. 

Theres a tight pause. 

Theres a slight smile pulling at the corners of Miles's mouth. The older man notices and tenses. The brunette pats Waylon's shoulders and smooths out the fabric. 

"Lets make things even." His voice is low and breathy. "...My humanity for you virginity." 

It takes Waylon off guard. He breaks into laughter.

"Jokes on you I have kids..." he lifts his glasses to wipe sweat away from his eye. "Not much of a bargain, never thought you had much humanity to start with anyways." 

"Smooth Park... I assume you've never been with another man?" 

"I just said I have kids... I had a wife too."

"So you don't know what it feels like to be penetrated?"

"NO!." There is more nervous laughter. "Miles i've never been with a man."

"Good. You're all mine." He's got Waylon by the collar and pulled him in for a kiss. 

Waylon leans back onto his heals. He pushes against Miles's chest. "Miles wait." He says desperately. "Don't do thi-" He's cut off by the kiss. 

Its warm and wet and really doesn't feel too different from kissing a girl, just scratchy from the stubble. Miles lips roll over his own, he feels the brunettes tongue slide over his pursued lips he feels him try to coax them open. Waylon grabs at Miles shirt and pushes harder, then yelps. Miles pinches his ass and doesn't hesitate to force his tongue in. Sly bastard, the blond thinks and bites his tongue. 

"Ow! Watch it!" Miles yelps surprised. 

"You cheated first."

Miles smacks Waylon's but. "OW! Heyhey." It was the blonds turn. He cups Miles's face sternly. "Miles. Miles... what I was trying to say is that I don't swing that way ." 

"Whats between you're legs would say otherwise." There's a big dumb smirk on his face, and for once, a little colour in his cheeks. 

Waylon looks down and flushes at the sight of his bulge. "Will you let me finish?" he's flustered. "As I was saying, I've never been with a man, I don't know if i'll like it, I don't feel that way about you. I don't even know how we would... How it works." He catches the look Miles is throwing at him. "Ugh I know how it works, I've just never done it. I Haven't practiced. There's a huge difference between knowing how something works and doing it."

"Waylon please..."

"What?"

"Relax." Miles is smoothing out the fabric on the blonds shoulders again. "You talk so much i'm loosing the erection."

Waylon's eyes dart down. The brunette notices and smiles. Waylon rolls his eyes.

"C'mon, lets take it slow." He slides his hands under the blonds jacket and holds his waist. He begins to sway side to side, he can feel him resisting, tensing. "C'mon, relax..." The brunette coo's gently. "Thats it... Breathe." Miles closes his eyes and begins to hum. 

"Ugh come on Miles this is stupid." Waylon trys to push his hands away, he can't so he just holds his wrists. 

"Waylon. You're fine. We don't have do this, we can do something els. But you'll feel better afterwards, trust me. You need this as much as I do." His voice is Quiet and pleading. "Tell you what, you go run a bath and I'll grab the whisky. 

"You bought whisky?"

"Stole... Of corse."

***


End file.
